The prime minister was angry. Very angry. Incredible Hulk angry. He'd been dragged back from an election trip by the Speaker, who is loathed by most Tories anyway, to answer questions which he thought had been answered last week. He arrived in serious mouth-frothing, teddy-hurling mode.

You can always tell when he's getting ratty. The answers descend to personal abuse, and the bald patch grows. On Monday afternoon it had shifted down towards the bottom of his scalp. And a new element appeared: he goes red. Not just pillar-box red, or even silk-clad film star on the red carpet red, but a deep, lustrous Nicholas Soames crimson.

He started by shouting and yelling, and worked himself up from there. The line was: Leveson would decide. This was a side issue to make people forget the real story, which was, as usual, the state in which Labour had left the country.

Ed Miliband was, again, pretty good, and for once knew when to shut up. If Jeremy Hunt was using the News Of the World defence – one rogue political adviser – then he should be fired for being clueless. But the special adviser had to go to protect the culture secretary. And the culture secretary had to stay to protect the prime minister.

It was at this point that the Cameron face began to change colour, like a chameleon hiding on House of Lords wallpaper. Marlon Brando as the Godfather might have murmured "he has displeased me. Take care of it", and minions would know what he meant. But the prime minister takes the opposite approach. "Weak and wrong!" he yelled at Miliband. Secret Labour meetings with Murdoch! Pyjama parties! "Get your facts right! Bad judgment, rotten politics, plain wrong!"

There comes a point when surfing on sheer rage is enough to carry a man, more effective than logic, judgment or facts could ever be. Margaret Hodge, the public accounts chairwoman, pointed out that Jeremy Hunt's permanent secretary had refused 10 times to confirm that he had authorised the rogue special adviser, Adam Smith.

The din, already massive, continued to grow. Everyone was on edge. The Speaker accused MPs of "baying noiselessly" before correcting himself. David Cameron sneered that Hodge liked to let her committee "drift into these areas", a pettish remark greeted with a great, camp "Whew!" from Labour.

Peter Bone, the deeply annoying Tory MP for Wellingborough, once again quoted his wife, who had told him that "hundreds and hundreds" of people were complaining – but about the choice of Roy Hodgson as England football manager. If he really thinks Mrs Bone is the epitome of good British common sense, why doesn't he swap jobs with her?

Tom Watson, who has led the anti-Murdoch campaign, never likes to stand up without an exclusive. In that respect he resembles the front page of the Sun. He wanted to know what had been passed to News Corp by Treasury advisers. Labour MPs rustled with excitement, and put it aside for later, like a squirrel's nuts.

Chris Bryant asked how the Murdochs knew government policy, word for word, two days before parliament and the world were told. Cameron didn't try to answer; he merely abused him. Dennis Skinner said Jeremy Hunt was keeping his job when thousands around the country were losing theirs. Why? To take a bullet for the PM.

The PM, now floating on a magic carpet of his own fury, told Skinner he had a right to take his pension, and advised him to do exactly that. There has been some Twitter activity about this insult to a harmless old gent. But Skinner has been dishing it out for 42 years now, and is quite capable of taking it back. He has his fans, but he is not yet a national treasure.

And Jacob Rees-Mogg drawlingly accused Labour of being "socialist yahoos". As they erupted in mock cheers, the phantom magic top hat floated above his head.